Open My Eyes
by Sassycaslovesdean
Summary: After an almost fatal accident, Castiel is left blind, causing his past life and future plans to crumble. Dean Winchester is a professional caretaker of the blind, and he is assigned to take care of Castiel. Can he show Cas the worth in his life and help him towards healing? Destiel.
1. Chapter 1

They rushed me into the bustling place in such a hurry, but I could see none of it, but I suppose that was to be expected. Everything was a haze at the time, but I knew that I had been in some sort of accident. What it was or the extent of the damage was not really anything I knew at the time.

My eyes were closed, refusing to meet the bright hospital lights as the paramedics rushed me through the emergency hallway and towards what I could only assume to be a critical care room. I heard various things being called out, but I could not quite make out what each was, nor did I really care at the time. I did not really have the equipment to care at the time. I was dazed, far too out of it to even know what was going on around me.

They must have gotten me into a room because I felt a prick in my arm, and I slightly bristled at the touch. It was sudden and quite unexpected.

"It's an IV, Mr. Novak." A soft feminine voice told me.

"Give him an anaesthetic." Another voice, this one distinctly male with a rugged undertone, ordered from my other side.

That was all I remembered of that procedure. Whatever happened, I may never know. I felt the world spin around me as I slipped from consciousness, but little did I know what that actually meant for me.

I opened my eyes, but I was not greeted by the usual morning sunlight. It was pitch black when I awoke. I blinked a few times, trying to determine if I could see a thing in the sheer dark, but the room was too dark to see in, so I assumed it to be an ungodly hour of the night. I assumed that meant I should go back to bed because there was no point in staying awake during the night, so I did exactly that.

I settled back down into my pillow, eyes restfully closed, but I was disturbed by what sounded like the creaking of a door.

I slowly opened my eyes, hoping that the light from the outside of the room that crept through the opening of the door would help to illuminate my room in just the slightest, but I was granted no such privilege.

"Ah, Mr. Novak. I see you are awake." I heard a smooth female voice say, but I could not see anyone. More importantly, I could not see _anything_ , and it scared me more than much of anything else I had ever experienced.

"Where are you?" I warily asked, afraid that she might say something that proved my fear correct.

There was a pause, and I could hear my visitor shift closer to me. "Right by your bedside." She sounded confused when she spoke to me, but I could not say I blame her. I was too, but my confusion was overridden by fear.

"Could you turn the light on?" It took everything in me not to choke on my words. I felt my body begin to tremble as I lay in that hospital bed. Some part of me just knew what she was going to say, but I could not accept it. The fighter in me refused to accept that possibility.

"It's ten in the morning, but if that's what you want…" The woman sounded quite uncertain, doubt ringing from her tone as I heard her rustle to move.

I felt my body suddenly tense. My trembling came to a sudden stop. That was it. That proved it. There was no more denying the facts. "Am I… blind?" I choked the words out.

There was a long pause, and for a moment I thought she may have left me there. "My job is to check on you every so often and tend to you. I don't have to memorize your case, but it doesn't take a doctor to tell you that." The woman responded, her tone rounded with sympathy despite her sarcasm.

I said nothing in response. I had no words. I had never thought something like that would happen to me. I was on my way to med school. I was going to graduate college in a month. I was so close. I was going to make a name for myself. I was going to matter, but in that moment all of those prospects left me alone and helpless. I was a blind hospital patient. I couldn't even see. What was I supposed to do? How could I change the world? I couldn't even see it anymore, yet alone do anything for it.

In that moment I did not just lose my vision: I lost all of my self worth.

"I have to check on another patient. Call me if you need anything." The woman reluctantly spoke. I think she could see that I was having a hard time. She worked in a hospital after all. Surely she knew that shock was a natural reaction. I heard her scoot towards the door before it creaked open again, and I assumed I was left alone.

I was left alone with what I thought I had no use for: myself.

Waking up was a strange experience. I felt next to no difference when I next awoke, only the slight shift in awareness. The world only seemed to be darker around me, but I could make out noises I had never really stopped to hear before. I heard the steady hum of hospital machinery. I heard the scuffling of shoes across the hallway. I heard a bird chirping in the distance. I could hear some children playing far off, but most importantly I could hear someone enter my room.

I straightened myself up and perked my ears, listening intently. I could not even begin to explain how frustrating it was not to be able to see the face of the newcomer. My whole life had consisted of the pleasure of reading people based on their appearance: their expressions, their attire, the way their face changes as they speak, the look in their eyes, their particular mannerisms… there was so much to see when someone talked. I could read people before, and I was good at it, but then I became blind, and I could not even read my own thoughts properly anymore. I knew nothing about my visitor other than the fact that he distinctly smelled like apple pie and leather, and his shoes slightly squeaked on the floor. Apart from that, I could sense nothing else. As a matter of fact, I had only assumed him to be male. It was not until he spoke that I was more certain of that fact.

"Hey, Castiel. My name's Dean Winchester, and I'm here to help you out." The man spoke in a smooth voice that rang through the room like a breeze. He sounded relatively young, but that was just a guess. I could, however, come to the conclusion that he often smooth talked and flirted his way out of situations. I could tell because of that sly tone to his voice that was present even as he introduced himself to me.

"Help me how?" I countered warily. I did not know the man. He could want to abduct me. Perhaps he was not even hospital staff. How could I possibly know? I could not see him, so I could not see if he was wearing hospital attire. He did smell of leather, and that led me to be slightly afraid of the man, but, truth be told, I would not have cared if he had killed me. I was as good as dead in my mind already.

The man, Dean as he had said, let out a soft sound close to a chuckle. It was a genuine sound that sounded slightly amused, which allowed me to release a bit of my tension. "I'm a specialist." He replied, and I could almost hear a bit of amusement in his voice. "I work with the blind."

The way his tongue clicked the tip of his mouth as he said the word 'blind' was audible from my spot on my bed, which was not something I had ever imagined myself hearing, but I had also never imagined myself being _blind_ , so I dismissed it.

I could not keep the contempt from entering my voice. I held the man himself in no sense of spite, but only myself. I was the failure, not him. "Don't treat me like I'm helpless. I can manage on my own." It was a completely false statement. I felt helpless and lost, but I wanted to prove myself otherwise. I wanted to find worth in myself.

"I'm sure you can." The man's voice was dripping with sarcasm, and I could almost envision him sitting in a chair wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and a smirk. "But my job is to watch over you, so I'll just make sure you adjust okay."

"Oh." Was my only response. It was at that moment that I realized I had been very rude. The man was trying to help me, but my stubbornness insisted that I was a lost cause. "I can live with that." Were the strange words that flowed out of my mouth.

"Good because otherwise we might have a problem." The man's smooth voice filled the air again.

"I have enough of those." I replied without any thought.

"We all do, but I'm here to help you out with a few." The man casually responded, giving me the impression that he had done this quite a few times before.

"I…" I felt my fist clench in frustration with myself. I could not be like this. I was supposed to change the world. I was never supposed to be helpless and relying on someone else. "Thank you." I whispered in defeat.

I felt him lean in, the crunch of my bedsheet as he rested his arm on top of the mattress and his hand on top of mine. "Thank me when you're up and running again." He whispered back, and in that moment, I had a kindling hope. It was vague, and it was small, but at least it was there.


	2. Burdens

He was by my side more often that not. I learned to sense him after a while. He sat in silence for the most part, but his scent of apple pie and leather was a constant in my hospital room. Sometimes he would speak to me, but it was never anything major. It was only small talk, but I had to admit it was appreciated. I had no one else in the world other than the occasional nurse that would come in to check on me, speaking in a hushed voice about my chance of regaining my vision. The nurses would speak to Dean as if I couldn't hear them, but I could. My handicap had taken away my vision, but it in turn heightened my other senses. A part of me hated it. I didn't want to hear the nurse tell Dean that I would probably be blind for life, her tone brisk but pitying. I did not want to hear it because I did not want to believe it. Just a few days ago, I was out in the woods taking in everything nature had to offer. I could see the lush green leaves that surrounded me. I was engulfed by an endless blue sky with infinite entertainment via heaven's pillows. I was granted the privilege of seeing birds fly gracefully about or watching the sun as it creeps over the horizon to begin the day.

I sat in my bed and thought about those images, but the thing was, I couldn't even picture them anymore. Slowly, the images slipped from my memory and I was left blind once again. I subconsciously breathed out a frustrated sigh.

"Having a tough time with something?" The man by my side asked in his cool, suave voice.

"Everything." I grumbled, folding my arms like a petty child.

He laughed at my behavior. The sound that escaped his lips was a marvel to my ears, like a sweet whisper that was soft and almost seductive. "Well then let's talk about it. Tell me what's on that pretty little mind of yours." The man casually cooed. I could hear his body rub up against the chair he was in as he sat back.

I was silent for a moment. I knew that it was wrong and spiteful of me, but part of me did not seem to register that at the time. Part of me subconsciously refused to admit that I may never see daylight again, and that part of me made me remain silent. "It's nothing." I verbally pushed him away. I realize now that he had every right to hate me, or at least dislike me, but he did not. I was a royal brat to him, and yet he was still calm and unmoved when he talked to me.

"It's my job." The man continued, and the click of his mouth could only mean that he was half smiling. I had been around him long enough to learn of his mannerisms, and that was most certainly one of the more common. "I would like to know." He gently pried as if he were not even asking for information that I felt was devastating. He spoke the same way that one might speak a "hello" to an attractive stranger.

"I…" His tone took me by surprise. I felt it nearly impossible to say no to him, but then again, that's probably why he spoke in that alluring voice. "I am just… having a hard time remembering what things look like. I'm…" I felt my fists clench up as I spoke, my mind screaming at me to stop talking. "I'm worried that I'll never be able to remember what things look like. What if I am stuck in darkness my whole life?" My unseeing eyes went wide. I could not see through them, but I could still feel me disbelief being expressed through them.

"I'm glad you told me." Dean praised me. I cannot even begin to explain how much I longed to see the look on his face. I just knew based on the content way he spoke that there must be some sort of happiness displayed on his facial features, and yet, I could not see it. I had hated myself for the accident. I hated myself for being useless, but I could detect a note of joy in the man's voice, and that was something I needed desperately at the time. Perhaps if I had seen his face, I could have shared in his joy. "But, you know, I'm here to either help you get better so you can get surgery or help you live with the darkness. Either way, I know you'll make it through it." The man told me in his usual cool voice that sounded distant in some way, which rang through my ear and made me stop my train thought right in its tracks.

He was right. I could not change what happened to me; all I could do was live with it, no matter what that meant. That did not, however, take away the pain of knowing that I may never look out into the world again, and I may never go as far as I wanted in the world to make it a better place. "Thank you. I mean that." I responded sincerely, the sound of my own voice ringing in my ear as stunned and soft.

"No problem." I could hear the tips of his mouth click upwards in a grin that I knew perfectly well I may never see. "It's kind of my job."

I shook my head. He did not understand what it was I was trying to say. "I mean," I began to clarify in a firmer tone. "Thank you for putting up with me. I haven't been exactly pleasant for the past few days."

"Oh, you're fine." The man sounded surprised and almost shocked by my words. "Believe me. I've had much worse." He sounded certain of that, his voice vibrating with conviction.

"Really?" My interest had been peaked as I leaned forward in my seat. "How long have you been doing this job anyway?" I curiously asked. I knew next to nothing of my caretaker, and I found it almost to be rude.

I heard him bite his lip and give it a quick nip in thought, his weight simultaneously shifting in his chair. "About three years." He decided after a moment's thought.

"How old are you?" I asked, wondering if my strange caretaker was much older than I was.

"Well I'm not fifty if that's what you're thinking." He joked, his tone soft and playful. "I'm twenty five."

 _25._ He was two years older than I was. Only two years… and yet he acted so much older, so much more mature. "Do you… live alone?" It was a logical question. It was just polite conversation. There was nothing to it. I kept telling myself these things, little did I know what it had potential to become.

He huffed a soft laugh that sounded like a verbal version of fresh silk, and I took a moment just to soak it in. "Yeah. I live alone. What about you? You got anyone?"

"No." I immediately responded. I knew I was alone. I had no friends, no family, and certainly no significant other. "Do you have any family?" I asked him as I recalled that most people did have a family. _Family_. I had had one at some point. What had happened to those days?

"Yeah. I've got a little brother who lives nearby, and my dad lives out of state, but he comes up for holidays." Dean made no comment on my quick denial of family. He seemed to not even notice it. Perhaps he was used to it.

"That sounds nice." I felt a miniscule smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I thought about how happy Dean must have been to have a family. "You must like having a brother." It was not my intention for it to come out sounding troubled, but it must have based on the way Dean responded.

"I do, and I'm really lucky to have him." He whispered as if he knew. He spoke like he knew about what had happened to my family, but he could not have. Unless he read up on me, but even then, he could never have known the full story. I was the only one who could.

I nodded my head very slowly as I thought over the words that brought back a few surging memories that I had previously struggled to bury. "Yes. You are. What is he like?" I asked very sheepishly. I'm not entirely sure what it was that I was afraid of. Perhaps I was afraid of realizing what I was missing and discovering a brand new gap in my soul.

"Sam." The man said, and I'm certain that if a smile could be turned into audio, that is what it would sound like. It would sound like the pure affection that rang through Dean's voice at that moment. "Sam's his name, and he's a good kid. Well, he's not really a kid. He's 21, but we grew up together, and he was always the nicer of the two of us, the smarter one too. The kid's gentle and kind-hearted. I just know he'll make a good lawyer someday." Dean sounded so proud that I could have guessed that he had raised the boy himself.

"He sounds great." _Much like you, Dean._ My mind added, but I was afraid to admit that. My admiration for my caretaker was not of importance at the time.

"He is. He's a real blessing." Dean responded, his voice light and genuine.

"And blessings are rare, not everyone gets one." I muttered, feeling my memories and darker side begin to seep into my mind and overtake my thought process.

"See, I don't think that's true." Dean responded with certainty that I still do not know where he found. "Blessings are everywhere. Sometimes, you're too busy counting your burdens to notice them."

I could hear it, and I swear I could feel the smugness just ebbing from his voice. I knew perfectly well what that implicated, and I can tell you that it did not sit well with me in the slightest, but perhaps that was just because of how true it was.

I was silent for a moment, and in that moment I wondered how much he knew. The thing was, I refused to acknowledge it at the time. _I am a burden. I'm a burden to Dean, the world, and myself. That's why I have no one._ I did not wish to speak of my self loathing feelings aloud or give him the satisfaction of proving him right. "I'm going to sleep." I muttered, and he did not seem to mind. I felt no immediate change in the air, only a slight shift to a more quiet and patient background.

"Goodnight, Castiel." Dean whispered as he leaned back in his chair. I could hear his breathing begin to slow and steady itself into a rhythmic pace that suggested that he too wanted to sleep, and I allowed him to. He had been by my side for most of the hospital time I could recall, and he would be there for me as long as I needed him.


	3. Changes

They told me I could go home. They was a vague word, but I honestly could not distinguish them much at the time. Looking back I'm able to tell a great deal more about each of the hospital staff that looked after me. For instance, they all wore the same shoes, but one woman with a gentle voice like a breeze would nervously shuffle her feet around me, and her breath would come out slightly heavier. Either she had a soft spot for me, or she was unsettled by me. It may have been my unseeing eyes, which were still an unpainted image to me. Whatever the reason, I know she was uncomfortable around me.

Another nurse, on the other hand, evidently felt bad for me because his voice always went a bit softer and higher when he talked about my condition, and I could hear him bite his lip every so often.

The third nurse was very flirtatious. I could practically hear the confidence in her voice, which told me that I was not the only patient that she flirted with. Meg. I remember her name. Her cool voice was the same kind of flirtation as Dean's, but it was not at all at the same time. Strangely enough, Dean's simply had a different ring to it. It was relaxing and seductive, one of those voices that just make you comfortable enough to fall asleep and drift away for who cares how long. Meg was nice and interesting, but she was not Dean. She smelled of Axe most days, or sometimes old spice, which indicated the presence of other men.

I liked her, but I liked Dean more, and that seemed to be a dangerous fact. Dean spent a good portion of his time by my bedside until I was discharged, but when he was not, I felt lost and alone, and I hated it. I hated Dean for it too, no matter how petty that sounded. I had become dependent on Dean, and that was contrary to what my future was supposed to be.

All of that aside for a moment, I did say they sent me home, which is true, but at the same time, it's not. Home was not home anymore. I had no home in reality at that point. The whole world outside of that hospital room was foreign to me. I could not tell my old home from the next guy's house, and that was one of the scariest parts because really, I had basically lost everything - my identity included.

The world was cold and harsh to me, and I felt the anxiety overwhelm me as soon as they let me out, Dean guiding me towards a car, which was presumably his. The world felt like it was grabbing for me, desperately trying to cling on to me and drag me into its clutches where it could take the last strip of worth I had remaining. I pathetically clung to Dean until he ushered me into the passenger seat of the car. It felt old and shaky, and the engine rattled, but it was Dean's car, so I automatically trusted it. It was a small sanctuary from that humanity nabbing world.

Dean had classic rock music playing, which had never been my favorite, but now, my ears danced with the song, delighted to hear something other than the incessant chatter of the world. If Dean noticed the slightest smile that made its way to my face, he made no mention of it. He drove in a respectable silence, just letting me soak in the music, only once talking to tell me that I could change the music if I wanted, to which I responded that I rather liked it.

He seemed pleased by that. I could hear his usual chuckle, which meant his mouth had to be crinkled in a smile, even if only briefly.

It pleased me too, actually. Me, who had no self worth because I had been robbed of my chance at healing the world, of all people was making that man smile, and that was an accomplishment. Perhaps a small one, but it is the smallest victories that really count sometimes. I have come to realize that they mean the most.

I could only tell that we had arrived at our destination because of the abrupt stop in music and rumbling of the engine of the old car. I heard the click of the key being pulled from the ignition, and I believe that both Dean and I knew that I was aware of where we were, even if the place itself was still a stranger to me.

He didn't say a word as he rustled in his seat and opened his door, the breeze rushing briefly in from his open door to lap at my face and deliver fresh new scents of rotting wood and marijuana. I was home all right, and to be honest, I had missed those particular scents only because they reminded me of what I was before, and they only now seemed to be a cruel reminder.

Dean's door shut with a click, and I was left again with the stuffy air that had the remnants of Dean's scent lingering throughout, making jabs at my nostrils at will.

I heard my door swing open, and the scents hit me again, but this time they were mingled with Dean's, which strangely enough gave me a bizarre kind of comfort.

I stepped out of the car slowly and cautiously, refusing to use Dean as a crutch because I was hopelessly trying to prove myself, but to who I had no idea.

Dean's laugh was barely even audible. It was more of a loud breath than anything, but I knew it was there. He thought my yearning for independence was amusing, and that greatly infuriated me.

"What's so funny?" I snapped at him as I rose up on the sidewalk, facing the direction his scent was coming from and trying to make myself look strong and intimidating.

"I didn't say anything." Dean played innocent, and I knew he was grinning. I could obviously not see it, but I could feel it. It was in his voice. He had to be.

"Yeah. You didn't have to." I growled back like a night owl who had been woken up at 4 AM.

"Sorry if my silence offended you, princess." Dean jokingly sassed me.

"Your silence didn't offend me; you did." I snapped right back.

"Everything offends you." He responded without missing a beat, and I can tell you for certain, that one hurt, but things of that sort only hurt if they're true. The truth hurts. Maybe that's why we have a tendency to run from it.

He led me into my apartment without touching me or uttering a single word. I think he must have known that I could follow his scent at that point, but I still did stick close by him because I was afraid that I might bump into something and get separated from the one person who was still by my side.

I know I must sound like an emotional train wreck, but in all honesty, I was exactly that. Whether or not that was entirely valid was still up in the air, and it still is to this day.

My apartment represented the tranquillity and ambition of my past life, but that life had died along with my spirit, so my apartment was now just another dingy old building that reeked of rotting wood.

I wondered how long Dean would be with me, but I hesitated to ask because I did not want to seem dependent on him. I inwardly feared that he would be dropping me and running as far away from me, the problem child he never asked for, leaving me alone in a cruel new world.

Maybe life is not what they all shape it out to be. It's not fun and laughter. It's not love and selflessness. It's cold and lonely, and most of all it's an overwhelming sense of perfunctory activity that is empty at the core that everyone abides to. That was my view of the world at the time. However, Dean would soon work to change that in ways I could never even begin to imagine.

Dean led me up the stairs, each creak distinctive as I crept my way on up after him, clinging onto the rail as if it were a lifeline.

I think Dean knew I was fretting, but if he did, he made no sign of it. The only thing that really led me to believe he knew was when we finally stopped at my apartment and heard his mouth crinkle into a smile.

"Quit smiling. You'd be scared too." I grumbled at him as I came to an abrupt stop because I no longer heard the heavy padding of his footsteps.

"Probably." Dean casually responded, his voice sounding somewhat distant as if he were dreaming. "But it usually comes as a shock to all of them the first time they go home."

I could feel the shock ebbing into my face as the words slapped me across the face. I was not Dean's only patient. He had seen others like me. Perhaps I was not the worst off in the world.

I think that was what he was trying to prove to me. He knew that i was bathing in self loathing, not even bothering to think about my future because I believed I had none. In a few words, Dean had told me that he had helped others through my obstacle, and perhaps even worse ones. Yes, this was one of the first lessons Dean ever taught me, but it was just one in a line with many others.

I braced myself. "Let's go in." Was all I had to say to him, but I knew it must have pleased him despite the fact that I could not see his face. He still had a whole vibe about him that said as much to me.

"After you." He replied in his suave, soothing voice that was falsely polite. He just wanted me to enter into my new life as an individual, strong and fearless, but he also wanted me to know that he was backing me up the whole way. That was my first step into my new life, and it changed everything


	4. Sing a Little Birdsong

To say it was familiar would be an undisguised lie. My apartment was completely foreign to me. The only familiarities were the drifting smells of cigars and weed or the sounds of screams and gunshots. I had gone to sleep every night to the such, and it is strange to say that they were almost comforting. It is stranger to say that I found Dean to be almost comforting as well.

I appreciated that the would often sit back and simply watch me without a word, the only signal of his presence being the light breeze of his breath and the steady tapping of his foot every so often.

He allowed me the space that I needed to adjust, and he guided me through my every day plights with only a few sarcastic remarks. It would seem that limiting the sarcasm to less than one remark every hour was impossible for my mysterious caretaker, which frustrated me incredibly. I found him to be rather obnoxious.

"I can turn on the stove." I hissed as Dean reached over, his body presses close to mine, almost touching, the heat just hovering above my side and his warm apple pie and leather smell overwhelming my senses and momentarily making me forget my aggravation.

"I'm sure you can." Dean sarcastically responded. "But I'm not ready to let you around fire or a stove yet." He added, pushing me away slightly as if to protect me from whatever harm my own kitchen appliance could do me.

"I'm not helpless." I bit back, hearing the stove top click on and hearing the rustling of pasta and pans as Dean worked without my permission.

"I didn't say you were." Dean's voice was the verbal equivalent of a shrug. There was something so alluring about the way that he spoke. It was as if there was no effort in his word choice, and yet his words, no matter how simple and straightforward, always seemed to have such profound implications. I suppose it is similar to the way that literary scholars digest novels. Words mean something different to everyone, but the power is always present. It is the impact, the natural fluidity and hidden emotions behind words that make them memorable.

They say a person's voice is the verbal equivalent of their handwriting. At that time, I had to believe that. Dean's voice said so much with so few words, and yet it had such an influential appeal that was truly profound. I still had a voice. I could use mine like Dean used his. Perhaps I could even master it. It was small things like this that made me grateful for Dean's help, and I feel forever indebted to him for the unspoken aid he gave me at those times.

However, at that moment, I was certainly not appreciating him in that sense. "You didn't have to. I am capable of making my own pasta." I grumbled bitterly.

"Maybe you are, but it doesn't mean I don't want to do it, so say thank you, and let me do something for you." Dean lectured me without any anger or contempt. His voice was still the same cool tone I has become accustomed to.

I was stunned for a moment, shock snatching any words that could possibly tumble forth from my mouth. "Why would you want to do that?" I found myself asking, which was mostly because I myself found no desire to do anything for myself. I did not feel that I deserved anything, yet alone a person who genuinely wanted to help me.

"It's my job." Dean shuffled, his foot scraping the wood tile for a brief second in hesitation. "That's just how it is." Those words sounded almost forced, and I knew that they were not his originally intended words. I had become quite good at distinguishing Dean's different times whenever he slipped from his usual suave, informal tone.

"But why would you want that?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued.

"I've just always been like that. I take care of people. It's what I do." Dean cryptically reasoned, and I could hear the hidden stories that just begged to be unleashed, but he kept them buried and told me nothing at the time. "Sit down. I need space to work." He diverted the subject, turning on his heel to face the stovetop again.

I huffed, but I said no more. I supposed it to be only fair considering that I had told him next to nothing, and I certainly had much to hide. I would be hypocrite to push him any further, so I did as I was told and allowed myself to be on the receiving end of a good deed - something that I had never thought I would live to experience, but as I will come to explain, Dean Winchester brought about more than one new experience for me: he taught me a whole new way of life.

My frustration began to build with each trivial task I attempted. Nothing was the same anymore. Even getting dressed required more effort, and even after I had gotten the hang of feel of which fabric to know what I was putting on and how to do go about doing so, I still had no idea of what color that object was unless it had a very distinguished material.

Dean would stand by my dresser as I shifted through my clothing and tell me what color each object was.

For the first few days he picked out outfits for me, which, as you can imagine, only fueled my pettily redirected anger.

I felt lost and helpless. I feared that if I continued to allow Dean to aid me in everything that I would have normally been able to do, I would no longer know how to do them on my own. I would be dependent on Dean. I would need another person around in order to function, and that simply was not how I went about my business in my life prior to the accident.

I still had yet to accept that my life before was entirely gone. Some delusional part of me clung to the illusive hope that I would recover and rid myself of Dean and the helplessness he represented to me.

It was not until a few weeks after Dean had joined my company that I genuinely began to appreciate him for a realistic portion of all that he was. I was sitting at my old dining room table, feeling each of the cracks to remember what it looked like, but the image hardly came up in the slightest. I found myself grasping for the simplest of things - an image of a table I had known my whole life, dating back to when I had a family.

I felt my eyebrows furrow as I ran my fingers over the table with an increased pace in hopes of regaining the image, but I was interrupted by an almost entirely unfamiliar noise.

My head shot up as my ears strained to identify the sound. It had a familiar tone, like something I had heard described but never personally experienced for myself.

"It's a bird. A blue jay actually." Dean casually informed me.

"A… bird? Here?" I asked incredulously. My neighborhood never had birds. I suppose it was too violent, worn down, and obnoxiously bustling for a bird to make its home there, but for some reason one had come to me.

"Yeah, why not?" Dean inquired curiously, but his voice still sounded suave enough that it could not be considered prying.

"It's just… I've never heard one before. What… does it look like?" I hesitantly asked, feeling a blush creep to my cheeks as embarrassment washed over me. I truly seemed like a fool then.

"Never seen a bird before, huh?" Dean chuckled softly, the soft breathy laugh barely even audible. "It's a pretty bird with a black beak. It's got bright blue feathers a lot like your eyes actually, and the top of its head has jet black feathers. It kind of looks like you." I heard the teasing tone in his voice at his last statement, but I still took it personally because I was on edge, frustrated, and embarrassed.

"I look like a bird now?" I bristled up defensively.

"It's a pretty bird." Dean did not seem offended at all by my edgy attitude.

I paused for a moment, trying to decide whether that was a simple justification or a flirtation. "It sounds pretty." I decided after a prolonged pause. "I think I like it."

The sound was melodious, the bird chirping soft, high pitched noises that rang pleasantly in my ears. It was a gentle song that dragged me towards a peaceful slumber, and it was all entirely new to me. Perhaps if I had heard it before I would not have appreciated it as greatly.

"Me too. Like I said, it's a pretty bird." Dean sat down in the chair across from me, the inconstant scrape of the chair legs against the quasi-sticky floor sounding into my ears before I heard the light thud that coincided with his sitting.

I was hesitant to ask about what the phrase meant. I desired to know if Dean found me to be beautiful. I desired to know if _I_ even found myself to be decent looking anymore. I also wondered what Dean looked like, what face was behind that comfortingly soft voice. I longed to look into his eyes and see his soul, and yet I knew I never could. My own eyes, perhaps even my own soul, had been taken from me, and I was left with numerous questions without answers. I voiced none of my questions out loud, and the reason why is still unknown to me.

"I quite like the sound of it." I repeated as I took the sound in once more.

"You could hear more. They go to the park not far from here all the time." Dean neutrally informed me.

"Would you… take me and describe them to me?" I shyly asked, afraid of losing my pride.

I heard the soft breathy sound of his laugh that greatly resembled the sound of a church bell. "There you go." He finally used his voice, which had a light, pleasant sound to it as it combined with his laughter.

"What?" I quirked a defensive eyebrow, feeling the hairs on my arm bristle up in defiance.

"You finally learned to ask." Dean seemed unfazed by my attitude. "I thought you'd never find your voice."

"I have a voice. I just choose not to waste it." I snapped right back.

"But you'll use it when you're upset. You're kind of like a cranky little chihuahua." Dean commented without much of a bite to his tone.

"I am not a dog." I hissed out.

"Whatever you say." Dean seemed to wave me off.

I snorted, trying my hardest to ignore him, but the sound of the bird chirping calmed me immensely, and I was reminded once again of the promise he had made to me. "Can we… Go tomorrow?" I finally asked, my tone begrudging.

"As you wish." Dean seemed to mock me, but his voice lacked any contempt as I heard him stand and tread out of the room, the steady creak and occasional sticking noise from his shoe as he made his way across the floor, leaving me alone with my calmed thoughts that for once were not dark and full of self loathing.


End file.
